


The Woes of Growing Chillies

by ximeria



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, M/M, South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), crowley and his plants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-12
Updated: 2020-09-12
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:34:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26426470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ximeria/pseuds/ximeria
Summary: Crowley stared at the plant.The plant stared back.Well, it wasn't the actual plant he was staring at per se, but the vibrant red chilli hanging among its dark green siblings.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 13
Kudos: 83





	The Woes of Growing Chillies

**Author's Note:**

> Originally meant for a digital zine that went on hiatus - so in the mean time - this gets to go out there for those of you who enjoy your domesticity stories ;)

Crowley stared at the plant.

The plant stared back.

Well, it wasn't the actual plant he was staring at per se, but the vibrant red chilli hanging among its dark green siblings.

He hardly dared breathe (as if he needed to) because this was what he'd aimed for when he'd first attempted to grow chilli plants in the little greenhouse, next to the cottage that had been their home for the past year and a half. His greenhouse was his pride and joy, his plants were amazing and grew the best produce in the whole area.

Except the chilli plants. The utter bastards that they were.

His first attempts had been last spring, and no matter what he did, no matter the threats and the yelling, all it got him were green chillies, bitter and not particularly pleasant no matter what dish they put them in.

And Aziraphale had tried many a dish, many a recipe, without any luck whatsoever. The bitterness of the chillis always shone through, overpowering any of the other subtle flavours of the angel's cooking. If they'd just been green it would have been alright, but the bitterness was a kick in the unmentionables.

So Crowley had had to accept (less than graciously) that Aziraphale would purchase chillies for his lovely chilli con carne (the one he insisted on using 80% dark chocolate in and the one that never failed to make Crowley's mouth water when it was cooking away for hours in their cottage kitchen. He did not eat often, but he always made an exception for the chilli con carne).

Frowning, he stared at the chill - one of his prized ten pots, standing in a row like a small platoon - and then at the one next to it. The other chillies had a different shade of green than he was used to from them as well. Dared he hope?

"Ah, here you are, my dear," Aziraphale said from behind him, coming over to put an arm around his waist and holding out a cup of freshly made coffee in the other.

Crowley carefully took the coffee and hissed out the side of his mouth: "Don't make any sudden moves, angel, look at it, look at it."

Aziraphale leaned against him to get a little closer to the plant and Crowley itched to pull him back. This was finally getting somewhere with that damned plant and he didn't want to startle it.

"Oh, aren't you lovely," Aziraphale breathed, reaching out to almost-but-not-quite touch the little pod hanging from the plant. "Such a beautiful blush. You'll be fit for kings in no time." It was almost like the plant leaned towards the angel, pods blushing right in front of Crowley's own disbelieving, unprotected eyes.

"Angel," Crowley hissed at him. He wanted to say 'stop giving them ideas!' but Aziraphale had turned to look him in the eye and squeezed his arm around his waist with a little more strength than usually - which never failed to make Crowley's breath hitch a little.

"But they are," Aziraphale said, the softest touch of his lovely bastardness lifting the corners of his mouth. "I have to admit I have started speaking to your chillies on a regular basis. It simply couldn't go on like this, Crowley - they were inedible. A different approach was needed and I knew you wouldn't let me if I'd suggested it."

"Mmmphf," Crowley said sourly. The angel wasn't wrong.

"And I remember how well someone else reacts to the right words, in the right tone," he carried on, leaning in to press his lips against the sensitive spot right where Crowley's tattoo was. Yes, utter, fucking. glorious. bastard. angel.

Crowley swallowed hard. Aziraphale wasn't wrong.

He kissed Crowley’s cheek this time and squeezed him one last time before letting go. "Besides, I am happy that the chillies are beginning to resemble my own favourite colour." His eyes flickered up to the top of Crowley's head, then back again.

Opening his mouth to ask, Crowley turned his head again and met Aziraphale's gaze. That look on his face, like butter wouldn't melt…

"At their peak they should very much resemble the colour of your hair, dearest." And with that, he kissed Crowley on the tip of the nose and turned to go back to whatever he'd been doing before coming in with Crowley's coffee. 

Crowley stared after him and then at the plant. The other green chillies on it were mocking him - they were, he could feel it. He could also see that they were blushing right there in front of his eyes.

He wanted to rant and rail at them, it had always worked with his plants back in London - and quite frankly, why tamper with a method that obviously worked? However, Crowley was a man-shaped entity of science - as a demon he might've spread his fair share of misinformation, but in order to do so one had to be very familiar with the correct source material, so it bore repeating: Crowley was indeed a man-shaped entity of science.

But he might actually have it wrong with these hellspawn plants. He opened his mouth to yell at them, to instill the fear of Crowley in them, but then slowly closed his mouth. Cocking his head to the side he looked at them and pursed his lips.

"Seems you and I have something in common, afterall," he murmured to the plants.

No need to give the other plants ideas above their stations. He took a sip from his mug and let his eyes fall shut for a moment. Praise humanity for finding the secret of the coffee bean and praise Heaven (for this one thing only) for creating a principality who knew the perfect bean-to-water ratio (a miracle in its own right considering said principality was a die hard tea drinker).

Taking another sip, he tried not to smile. He had a reputation to uphold, afterall. But yes, perhaps he and the chillies had a thing in common - they all reacted remarkably well to praise when it came from the soft lips of one, very specific angel.

One, very specific bastard of a heavenly created angel, that was.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Woes of Growing Chillies [podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28400832) by [litrapod (litra)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/litra/pseuds/litrapod)




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